Time To Play
by Ice Drop
Summary: When a taping gets rescheduled, Dean Ambrose finds that he has a little time to play, and a little new plaything to play with. [This story was inspired by Dean Ambrose and that sexy way he wore his US title.] Smutty one shot.


She knocked softly on the door of the locker room, the sound rattling hollowly through the deserted hallway.

After a full minute, she knocked again then poked her head in.

"Mr. Ambrose?" she called out as she entered.

"Dean Ambrose?"

The locker room was as generic as they came, she noted with the barest of interest as she looked around. One wall was lined with metal lockers, dull gray. Equally dull tiles reflected the overhead fluorescent lights that swept the room. There were duffel bags on a bench, some toiletries scattered, evidencing that it was occupied. Or had at least had been occupied.

She bent down to pick up a pair of Beats headsets on the floor, idly wondering which of the superstars owned them. Maybe he needed a PA, she mused.

She jumped in surprise when she heard a slamming sound behind her. Flying around to face the door, she saw the man she was looking for in the flesh.

Why she just stood there rooted on the spot, she had no idea why. She just gaped at him, her mouth going dry. And she had no idea why just looking at him was getting her all worked up.

Okay, so that was a lie.

She did know.

Quite simply, the man in front of her oozed sex. Everything about him screamed 'Do Me'. From his scruffy dark blonde hair that made her want to tangle her hands in, to his massive arms that were begging to be licked. There was that manly face, scruffy now with the beginnings of a stubble, but it could suddenly transform into an angel's when that dimple appeared. And his chest. And his abs. And oh, that body.

All he did was stand there in his Shield gear and she getting all hot and bothered.

Icy blue eyes narrowed at her, looking her up and down, slowly panning up her legs, then to the short denim skirt that hitched teasingly around her round ass when she was bent over earlier. His gaze moved up to her baby tee that was adorned with a small WWE logo, frowning when he saw the headsets in her hands.

Finally noticing what he was looking at, she shook herself out of her stupor and hastily set the offending headsets down on the wooden bench.

"It was on the floor! I was just picking it up! I wasn't stealing it, I swear!"

Crap, crap, crap. It was only her second week at work. She couldn't get fired over this!

She stood frozen again as Dean stared at her, hoping to heavens he didn't report her.

"I didn't think they'd let rats in this early" he drawled out.

"What? No! I'm not a rat! I'm a runner! I'm.. I'm new! I'm a new stage runner," she babbled.

Her hand flew to her chest, only to discover her badge missing. "My... my ID, I must have dropped it somewhere."

Her hand on her chest drew his attention, frown easing to a small smile as he watched her fast breathing, perky breasts straining against her shirt.

One eyebrow lifted up. "Runner, eh?"

She nodded, and couldn't help but take a small step back when he took one forward. Man, he was big. She's always thought she was average height and build, but she felt tiny compared to him.

She gulped, nervous. But that didn't stop her from giving him another once over, mind going to the gutter once again.

His Shield attire showcased everything beautifully; it hugged his broad chest, showed off his sculpted arms. It accentuated a slim waist and sexy hips which currently framed his US Championship title. Her gaze lingered on the belt he had unconventionally hanged in the front of his pants, and unconsciously, she wet her lips.

"Like something you see?" His rough voice caught her attention, and she went pink when she realized that he had caught her staring.

Suddenly, his right hand snaked forward and caught her left, pulling it close and rendering her off balance. Instinctively, her right hand flew up to brace herself, and that hand ended up on his chest.

Smirking down at her, Dean flattened her palm against the gleaming gold of the belt, guiding her hand in slow up and down movements.

"Yeah, just like that, baby," he said, his gloriously throaty voice tinged with amusement and something more.

Her cheeks were no longer pink; they were red now. She felt scorched. Both her hands felt scorched. Her left hand still palming the belt- scorched. Her wrist in his hand- scorched. Her right hand on the black lycra on his chest- scorched. Hell, even her ears felt scorched from that voice.

Her mouth opened to form a protest, but none came out. She half-heartedly tried to snatch her hand back but his grip was firm.

With wide eyes, she looked up to see his face hovering so close to hers.

His blue eyes were intense, lips curled into a wicked smile. Oh, how the man oozed sex.

They stared at each other until the sound of knocking and another runner's voice calling out for 'Mr. Ambrose' jolted them back to reality.

"They're waiting for you at the gorilla!" she squeaked.

"Are they now?" he drawled amused. He released her hand, and she took a step back, the back of her knees hitting the bench, unceremoniously forcing her to sit lest she fall over.

"I guess we'll just have to do this some other time." He left the room, shooting her a parting wink.

Holy hell. She didn't know what exactly just happened, but she would be lying if she said didn't want to find out.

* * *

Different day, different stadium.

It wasn't so much a locker room as a dressing room. The communal showers were at the end of the hall, as she had discovered earlier. In place of the locker rooms, rooms that were furnished as dressing rooms peppered backstage.

This was no different: the room that she hesitantly let herself in when no one replied to her knock.

There was a high backed couch in the middle of the room. A low coffee table stood in front of it, twin ottomans flanking it. A makeup table, adorned with a huge mirror at the farther end of the room. There was a small fridge it the corner and an unstocked makeshift bar. She spotted three familiar duffel bags, so she knew it was the correct room. Plus of course the sign outside, but hey, practical jokes always ran about, so she never really trusted those sharpie written papers taped to doors.

She nervously looked about, looking for the three members of the Shield she was supposed to relay instructions to.

Not seeing anyone, she made her way around the couch to another door on the far side of the room. She assumed it was a connecting door; one of the rooms she was in earlier had one exactly like it.

It was only when she passed the couch that she saw him.

Him! Already in his Shield uniform, on the floor, fingers splayed and flexing, biceps glistening with sweat. His face so intense as he pushed himself up and down, counting under his breath. It was a beautiful show of strength, his push ups.

She licked her lips, a small happy sigh escaping her breathe unnoticed by her.

But not by him.

He looked up at the sound, blue eyes gleaming in recognition when he saw her. He gave one final push, propelling himself up in one fluid move.

"Well, well, well. What do we have here? If it isn't Runner Girl."

Oh no. He caught her staring. Again.

"I... I'm supposed to tell you that your pre-tape is being moved to 6 o clock".

There. She said what was needed to be said. She could high tail it out of there.

But Dean Ambrose was faster, blocking her way to the door. Eyes glinting with mischief, darkening with promise of a whole lot more.

"Good. That's good," he said slowly. His eyes roving down to see a flush spreading across her cheeks. Glancing even lower, he caught the hitch of her breath, the rise and fall of tempting breasts.

"That means we have a time to... play." The last word came out as a throaty purr.

The way he smiled with teeth flashing reminded her of a shark. But sexier. No, not a shark. A wolf maybe. An alpha wolf stalking its prey. Indeed 'Hounds of Justice' was a very fitting name.

"Um. I need to um. Go. Do. Stuff. You know, backstage. Lots of stuff to do." She knew she was babbling, but the man was sauntering towards her, and her brain could only process so much.

Wary, she took a step back.

"We can do... Stuff here." He took a step forward.

"I... I still need to tell the others of the new schedule," she said weakly. Two steps back.

"You can do that later." Two steps forward.

"I... I..." She felt her back hit the wall, and with one final step, Dean closed the distance between them.

The fingers that she was admiring earlier traced a trail up her arms, to her collarbone and up her neck. Then made its way down slowly between her breasts. His other hand caught hers, pressing it to the growing bulge in front of his pants. Just as he did the other day, he guided her hand in slow up and down movements.

"Just like that," he whispered in her ear.

When she got it right, his guiding hand abandoned hers in search for more interesting things.

It ended at the hem of her shirt, lifting it just enough for it snake through and press against the smooth skin of her tummy. Slowly, his hand made its way up, following the curve of her back until it met the snaps of her bra. In one flick, he undid the clasp, lifting the bra so he could insert his hand between the material and her skin.

She inhaled sharply when his hand found her nipple, thumb rubbing agonizingly slow. His left hand, which had been fondling her through her shirt continued its onslaught, the different sensations driving her mad with need.

Slowly, his hands made way to her skirt, pulling it up to reveal wet white cotton panties. Just as slowly, he pulled the panties down, crouching in front of her as he removed it from her legs.

On his way up, he dipped a finger in her. She gave a loud gasp that made him chuckle softly. "Somebody's wet," he teased.

She looked at him, eyes were glazed with lust. Leaning forward, she tried to kiss him, but he turned his head, settling his lips instead on her neck, alternating open mouth kisses and bites. He added another finger, continuing his slow exploration of her. She thrashed against his hand wanting more.

Wanting his turn, he stopped his torturous ministrations and nudged her down. She didn't seem to get the hint so he nipped at her ear. "On your knees," he commanded.

She felt herself obeying, her knees gently hitting the vinyl floor. Her brain too befuddled to think anymore, let alone refuse.

Fumbling hands undid his belt buckle, but they were too clumsy for button. He helped her out, lowering his pants and black wrestling trunks, leaving an all too ready cock standing proudly.

Timidly, she wrapped her right hand around him. Even Little Dean was big, she thought dazedly.

She started with slow, tentative licks, trailing his length. Dean stood there, simply watching as her tongue and lips teased him. Growing in confidence as he urged her on, she took him into her mouth, enveloping him in warmth. She sucked him, head bobbing as her hand stroked the half that didn't fit her mouth. His hips started to move with her, his breath getting more laboured. When he began thrusting his hips a little more forcefully, she winced and had to pull back and let go.

He grabbed her arms and pulled her up, bunching her skirt up higher. Taking one leg, he hooked it around his waist and positioned himself near her entrance.

He teased her with his hardness, rubbing himself against her wetness.

"Dean!" she gasped. "Please!"

"Please what?" he asked, retreating ever so slowly.

"Fuck me! Please!" she begged.

In one smooth motion, he entered her. She threw her head back, hissing in pain and pleasure. He barely gave her time to adjust before he lifted her other leg, both legs now wrapped around him. Shifting, he positioned his hands on her ass, lifting her higher as he drove in deeper.

"Fuck," he groaned, "You're tight."

He ground his hips against her, moving deliciously slow. She moaned against his ear, enjoying the blissful friction.

Without warning, Dean slammed her against the wall, hips thrusting in a frenzied pace. She clung to him for dear life, his muscles taut as her nails dug onto his back and shoulders, soft whines escaping her lips.

Slowing down a little later, he carried her over to the back of the couch, setting her down on it. With her weight now half supported by the leather furniture, his hands were free to roam her body as he pumped in and out of her.

He slipped his hand under her shirt again to cup a breast, feeling her nipple strain against his palm. He played with it, rubbing and rolling as she continued to writhe her body against him in rhythm with his thrusts. He watched as her eyes fluttered close, lips parting, her breathe heavy. Leaning closer, he rasped against her ear, "That's it, baby, come for me."

It was his voice that voice sent her over the edge. The pleasures he was generating was too much. She let out broken whimper as an orgasm claimed her and she drowned in an overload of sensations.

Damn. She let out a shaky breath.

Slowly, Dean released her, withdrawing as he did, but he didn't let her stay up long. He turned her over and pushed her forward onto her stomach. Bending her over, her upper body on the back pillow, bare ass in the air, feet no longer touching the floor.

"I've been wanting to do this," he growled.

He spread her legs and entered her from behind. He pounded into her, rough and unyielding. She was hot and tight, and her little mewls of pleasure were driving him insane. He withdrew, slapped her ass cheek once, and slammed into her again.

She was fast becoming lost in another fog of pleasure. Oh, the feel of his cock was bliss! The sensation of being off her feet and feeling of only him, of his large hands gripping her hips and his hardness hitting all the right places propelled her into her second orgasm, more powerful that the first. She came with a muffled scream, her walls contracting against him. He thrusted into her faster, wilder, his movement more frenzied. And with a low groan, he came, shuddering, orgasm ripping through him as he emptied himself in her.

It was a while before either of them moved.

He was the first to recover, sliding himself out of her, pushing himself up, still breathing hard, as he tucked himself back into his trunks.

It was minutes after when she did, only lowering herself down on shaking legs when she became conscious of her ass still up in the air. She leaned on the couch, panting as she tried to regain her wits.

Now feeling conscious, she smoothed down her skirt and redid her bra. Sweeping her hair off her face, she looked around the room while Dean pulled his pants back up, zipping and buttoning, but leaving his belt buckle still hanging.

"Looking for this?" he asked, holding up her panties. She nodded and held out her hand, but he shook his head.

"Nope. I'm keeping this."

"But... but.. I need that back!" she protested.

He smirked at her and shook his head. "Come over after the show, I just might decide to give it back then," he said casually.

She nodded mutely, her eyes wide, brain slowly coming back alive, buzzing at the hidden meaning behind his words.

When she was sure she would be able to walk without her legs giving out on her, she turned around and made her way to the door.

His right arm shot out to block her way and he tutted. "Were you leaving without saying good bye?"

Unexpectedly, he leaned down to capture her mouth, the first feel of his lips making her want more, fast, craving the kiss he had earlier denied her. Immediately, she granted him access, parting her lips, feeling his tongue plunge into her mouth, tasting her.

Just as abruptly, he ended the kiss. But his tongue ran over her bottom lip in one final stroke.

"You really are a sweet little thing," he murmured against her cheek. "I should tell Seth, I bet he'd like you."

He dropped the arm that was blocking her, and she took that as her cue to go.

Before she could move though, Dean gave a smack to her backside, making her squeak.

"Better yet, go find Seth. Tell him about the reschedule, that taping isn't til 6. And tell him... Tell him I sent you," he grinned.

* * *

**Author's Note: My first foray into smut! I hope I did Dean justice ;p**

**This has been inspired by two things. One: Dean with the US Title tucked into the front of his pants. I saw a rerun of Smackdown a few weeks back and it has been burned forever into my mind. *Sooo hot!* And two: a photo I recently saw of Dean doing finger push ups (Google "Dean Ambrose push ups", and it'll be the first image that pops up). It looks like an old photo, but still! *Fans self* [Has anyone else noticed he's bulked up lately? His arms look soooo much bigger than over a year ago. Mmmm...]**

**And on that note, I hope you enjoyed! The fluff bunnies were all busy with my other fic that they didn't notice me sneaking off to write this ;)**


End file.
